The Ransom
by ladybrit
Summary: A stagecoach holdup, a murder and a ransom note are the background for this story
1. Chapter 1

January 2014

**Stagecoach**

Chapter 1

It was about midday when Dillon arrived back in Dodge. It had not been the easy trip he had planned it to be.

The Marshal had left Hays early the previous day having escorted a prisoner there for trial. Fortunately he himself was not involved in the proceedings and once he had delivered the prisoner, he was free to leave. He decided to return home taking a cross-country route rather than the main trail. It was still fairly early in the year, but the weather had been good. He knew that in a few more days the cattle drives would begin to hit Dodge and then his personal alone time would be seriously limited for many weeks. The prairie would be quiet right now and, with a little luck, he would have most of it to himself. Just him and the big buckskin horse he was riding. One night to camp alone under the stars and gather his strength for the stressful times he knew were ahead. There was a place where his route would cross the main stagecoach trail heading east, but there were only two coaches a day passing that way so all should be quiet. Of course, he thought later, he should never have allowed that presumption to enter his head.

As he crested the rise just before striking the main trail he saw something happening below that made his hand reach for the rifle he carried. Then he thought again – at this distance he could just as easily hit an innocent passenger as one of the bandits he could see waylaying the stage, so reluctantly he held his fire and watched for an opportunity. At first there was no violence, he saw the driver hand over the metal strong box and watched in silence, preparing himself to go after the road agents once the stage had gone safely on its way. Then a passenger foolishly opened the side door of the coach and fired a rifle he'd had stowed beneath the seat. Matt watched helplessly as one of the bandits drew his gun and fired. Whether it was a lucky shot or the outlaw was good with a gun, he could not tell. In the end the effect was the same, the man fell from the coach and landed in a crumpled heap on the prairie floor. A hand appeared from inside the coach and slammed the door shut as the driver whipped up the horses and made a mad dash to get the coach to safety. This gave Matt the diversion he needed and he headed down the hillside towards the outlaws as fast as the terrain and his horse would allow. He watched as the three men were frantically cramming as much money as they could, from the strong box into their saddlebags. This kept them so distracted that at first they did not see him. His noisy approach was masked by the sound of the retreating stage and he managed to get close enough to fire an accurate shot before he was noticed. Even then he was loath to fire at men whose backs were turned towards him.

"Hold it!" he yelled at the three road agents and fired a warning shot in the air. For a fraction of a second they hesitated, exchanging glances then mounted their horses and scattered in different directions. He fired several shots at them as they took off, wishing now that he had handled the situation differently.

He spared a look for the man on the ground – even without dismounting from his horse he could tell that the unfortunate individual was dead. Spinning the buckskin around, he took off after the man he had seen fire the deadly shot. It isn't easy to shoot accurately when riding a horse moving at a flat out gallop, never the less Matt knew he had to stop the killer. He did have the advantage of aiming at a target in front of him; even so he never liked shooting someone in the back – even a murderer. At first he fired a couple of wide warning shots but that had no effect, the man kept riding, his only acknowledgement being a quick backward glance at the lawman chasing him. Then he reached for his own gun and started firing at the Lawman The shots did not deter the Marshal; the ability of a man firing at a target behind him while riding a galloping horse, was severely compromised, and the chance of a bullet hitting him was small. He was managing to close in on the man but figured he only had two more shells in his gun before he would have to reload. He took as good an aim as possible and fired twice, he thought he had hit the man, but if he had it didn't seem to slow the bandit down. The outlaw continued to urge his horse on ever faster. Matt felt a bullet whistle past him from behind, not close enough to do any damage but it meant that the two other men he had seen were now attempting to come up behind him. There was no sense in getting caught in the crossfire, especially with an empty gun. He needed to find some cover. Even if they did get ahead of him he would be able to track them later. Certainly that was a better option than the one he now found himself in.

He pulled the buckskin over to a small collection of rocks and grabbing his Winchester Rifle, hurriedly dismounted to take cover behind a group of boulders. He needed to reload the colt peacemaker he had been firing and at the same time watch the movements of the three men. He could only see two of them now and they were both headed towards him trying to get a clear shot. He pushed his reloaded handgun back in its holster and raised the rifle to take aim at the closer of the two outlaws he could see. His finger tightened on the trigger as he focused his sight on his intended target but his concentration was shattered by a loud shot from further up in the rocks behind him. A fiery pain in his arm and a sensation of warm blood on his skin immediately followed it. He looked around and caught a glimpse of the third outlaw, the one who had killed the passenger and now fired at him, disappearing over the rise. The man must have circled round him, no sense in firing at him now, he was well out of range and it would just be a waste of bullets. He turned his attention to the two men still approaching from the front and fired again, thinking they would try to move in closer to get a better shot. Luckily they seemed more intent on escaping with the stolen money than chasing him down. A few more shots were fired before it was over, then the two quickly given up the chase and followed the first man over the rise.

Dillon cursed his luck and his own stupidity. He hated to be got the better of – especially by a group of road agents who had just murdered a stagecoach passenger. In frustration he pulled a dirty bandana from his pocket and tied it around his arm to slow the bleeding, then got back on his horse and headed to where the dead man lay. He looked through the man's pockets hoping to find who he was. There was a wallet that he put it in his own pocket to investigate later. Luckily he found enough rocks to cover the body because he didn't think he could dig a grave with one hand.

Dillon gathered up the reins of the buckskin and swung back into the saddle. He started out in the direction he had last seen the outlaws heading, but the ground was dry and rocky and their trail became almost impossible to follow. Several times he got down from his horse to examine tracks he could see in the softer sand between the rocks. After a while the rocks became fewer and the soft prairie yielded up the information he was searching for. One of his bullets had hit the man who killed the passenger, he could see an occasional splatter of blood on the ground that became more frequent the further he went. The hoof prints he was following became unevenly spaced indicating that the rider was not sitting squarely on his mount, probably because of Dillon's bullet. A little farther on he noticed that track he was following began weaving from side to side, probably because the rider was becoming disoriented. Then he found the place where the other two riders caught up with the first man and it looked like they had taken him in tow and circled back south towards the main trail once more. He tracked them all the way, but once on the main trail it became almost impossible to follow because of he number of prints and wagon tracks in the soft soil. He rode up and down for a mile or so hoping they had turned south and he could pick up their distinctive pattern again, but no such luck.

By now the wound in his arm was beginning to bleed quite heavily and the bandana he had hastily applied was soaked. He knew his only option was to head back to Dodge which, at his current pace, was still a good three hours ride away. He knew he would have to return later.

xXx

It took Dillon a little over three hours to get back to Dodge. By the time he pulled up in front of the livery, his arm was stiffening up and he had begun to feel light headed.

When Moss came out to great him, the first thing the stable man noticed was the blood stained shirtsleeve.

"You better get on up to Doc's, Marshal, I'll take care of your horse and take your stuff along to the jail."

Matt would have protested but thought that with a little luck he could make it up the Doctor's stairs unaided if he went now.

Doc looked up as the door opened. He was used to his friend the Marshal coming home carrying a bullet or bearing a broken bone or two, and this time was no exception. He noted the torn sleeve and bloodied bandana tied around the Dillon's upper arm.

"You better come in and have a seat," he said pulling out a chair.

"I don't think it's too bad Doc." Matt hung his hat on the stand by the door and carefully sat in the offered chair.

"Maybe you should let me be the judge of that." The physician was removing his spectacles from their case in his vest pocket. He placed the wires deliberately over his ears and then proceeded to remove the blood soaked bandana. He tore the sleeve open a little more.

"No not too bad," he pronounced with a swipe of his mustached. "The bullet is still in there, not deep but it needs to come out.."

He produced a half full bottle of whisky from a drawer in his desk and poured a generous measure into one of the white coffee mugs hanging by the stove.

"Here you drink some of this while I clean some instruments."

Matt accepted the mug and took a tentative swallow then nodded in appreciation, "This is the good stuff Doc."

"Yeh well don't go tellin' everybody or they'll all be lined up out there. Now hold still this won't take a minute."

The bullet was out and Doc was already applying a clean dressing by the time Kitty arrived.

"I heard you were back," she said to Matt while watching Doc fasten the last of the bandages. "How is it?" she was looking to Doc for an answer.

"Oh he'll be fine, Kitty, it wasn't deep, looks worse than it is. I advise you to go find a clean shirt Matt and get yourself a few hours sleep."

Matt walked as far as the Long Branch with Kitty, but instead of going inside he walked along to the jail. He needed to make out a report about the stage holdup even though he had no good description of the men involved because they had all had their faces covered. The only facts he knew for sure was that there were three of them and he had got a bullet into one.

Laboriously he wrote down every detail he could remember then put the report in a brown government envelope and handed it to Chester to take along to the depot to catch the mail. He also wrote out a wire he wanted sent to all the local lawmen within a hundred miles of Dodge. There was just a chance that a man with a bullet in him would show up looking for help. Lastly he packed the wallet he had found on the dead passenger in another envelope and locked it in the safe The stage company should have a list of people who had been travelling that day and he would have them check that out later.

"Chester I'm going to get some sleep for a few hours, just keep an eye on things here. If I'm not back in time to make evening rounds, come and wake me."

With that he left the office and made his way across to the room he had at Ma Smalley's. It served him well as a quiet retreat away from the noise of the town.

Removing his gun belt and boots he laid on the bed and closed his eyes.

TBC


	2. Chapter 2

**Ransom**

Chapter 2

As far as Mort Chalfont and Ben Walker were concerned, the whole sorry mess had started to unravel about three months ago when a well planned stage hold up had gone drastically wrong. It was a complicated story but as Chalfont looked back on it, it brought him a renewed zeal for extracting the revenge he sought.

Mort had had a brother, more than a brother – a twin brother, Milo, but thanks to some Kansas lawman he was dead now. Mort felt that loss deep inside his soul, as if half of him had died along with his brother.

Milo had been the smart one, he could plan a bank robbery, a stage heist, or just break into a store after dark to rob the cash box and never get caught. Milo had another useful skill, there wasn't a lock made that he couldn't open. It had always been that way right back as far as he could remember. Milo was the older twin by twenty minutes and he was the natural leader of the two boys, but then somehow there were three of them.

Mort couldn't remember the time before Ben had appeared on the scene. He knew he was not another brother because he had been born of different parents, but it sure felt like he was part of them. He remembered the story his mother would tell them of how Ben's family had been killed in an Indian raid. Somehow he had survived. He was just an infant and was sleeping in a wicker basket placed in the shade of nearby bushes while his parents were working their small piece of land. Then the Indians struck. Later that evening, an army platoon had found him on their way back to the fort. A strange mewling noise – almost like a kitten hiding in the bushes, attracted their attention. The sergeant had investigated and found the lone infant crying in the cold night air and nearby the bloodied bodies of his parents. They buried the corpses and seeing no alternative for the child carried him, basket and all, along with them to the fort.

Mr. and Mrs. Chalfont were young settlers hoping to make a life for themselves and their baby sons on the new land they had been given. The family had stopped at the fort to shelter for the night. In reality the fort was little more than an outpost, just a small platoon of men on the edge of nowhere. There was no way the young soldiers would be able to care for a baby and rather than see him go to an orphanage, the Chalfonts had agreed to take him to raise along with their own boys. He seemed to be about the same age as Milo and Mort and since they had no idea as to his actual birthday they always celebrated it on the same day as the twins. The soldiers knew that the baby's family name had been Walker so they kept that for him, and called him Ben. To Mrs. Chalfont his story always reminded her of the Bible tale of Moses in the bulrushes. Maybe there was some bright future ahead for this boy; perhaps he was destined for fame. Whatever the outcome was to be, like the Pharaoh's daughter, she took him in and raised him as her own.

The lives of the settlers had been hard – long hours of working the small acreage they had claim to as a homestead, barely scraping a living from the unyielding soil but they never went short of food and somehow every year each of the boys got a new set of clothes and a pair of boots. Of course as the boys grew older they dreamed of leaving home and seeking fortunes in one of the big cities. Before they had chance to put these ideas into action, the parents who raised them died of a fever outbreak. The land had taken all their strength and they had nothing left to fight the illness. All three boys survived and under Milo's leadership they left the farm and started making a living by easier means. For six years they had lived on the benefits of Milo's abilities. Every job they pulled went smoothly, they were never greedy and never killed anyone. Just helped themselves to a little from a bank here and a stagecoach there, maybe broke into a store during the night and took the contents of the cash box. Mostly they never took it all, just enough to keep them going. They ignored the big gold shipments or army payroll patrols; Milo had said they would cause less attention by going for the smaller easier stuff. Ben turned out to have a skill with the cards and he was able to supplement their income from time to time. They moved around from town to town, never staying too long in one place and never setting down roots. It was a strange existence but had worked well for several years. Sadly it was about to fall apart.

There was a stagecoach coming from Pueblo to Garden City then on to Fort Larned. It was on the last leg of that trip that Milo had planned to intercept the stage's journey. There would be somewhere around a thousand dollars on board in the strong box. Not a lot by many standards – but enough for them to live on for quite a while. The box would be loaded in Garden city and he planned for them to remove it about 30 miles east of there.

All had gone well to start with. The driver had handed over the box without objecting – but then one of the passengers had stuck a rifle out of the coach window and fired as they were climbing back on their horses. Milo returned fire and the passenger fell from the coach. They did not stay around to find if he was dead, just stuffed the remaining money into their saddlebags and took off. They did not see the lawman until the last minute. He must have watched the shooting but been too far away to fire on them without putting the passengers and driver at risk. Then he had followed them because next thing they knew he was there on the road ahead. Milo had seen the glint of the badge on his chest as he approached and yelled to the others to disperse. He fired at the lawman but it didn't stop him coming after them. Of course with three of them to follow the man had to pick one, and it was Milo. The outlaw could feel the lawman coming up behind him. He heard the order to stop, but ignored it. A bullet went whistling passed his head, so close he felt the heat from it as it almost touched his ear. He spurred his horse on thinking that while the lawman was following him the others could get away. Somehow Milo never thought he was vulnerable, he would live forever, this was all a game but then, as if lightning had struck, there was an incredible burning pain in his hip. Reaching down his fingers encountered the warm stickiness of blood. It was difficult to accept that a real live bullet had found him. He heard more gunshots from behind and guessed that his brothers were trying to come to his rescue – fools, why didn't they take the opportunity he was giving them to run.

The lawman was changing tactics, he had made his way over to an outcrop of rocks and was off of his horse now, taking cover and firing at all three of them. Milo's leg was burning but he had to do something. It was becoming difficult to maneuver the horse beneath him with only one good leg, but he had to try. He urged his horse forward, up into the rocks until he was above the scene and able to look down on the lawman below. It was not easy to get in position but now the man with the tin star had stopped to reload his gun. Milo had almost a clear shot, just needed to move his horse a little; he had to make his leg obey him, just one more minute. He knew he could not dismount; he wouldn't be able to stand. Gently, just tapping the animal's flank, one more step. Don't disturb the rocks and alert the man below. There, he had it. He raised his gun and gently squeezed the trigger, but at the critical moment his horse stumbled while straining for a foothold. His shot went wide – he thought he hit the lawman but his target did not fall and stoically continued firing at the others. It was taking all the outlaw's effort to focus on something other than the pain now, but by some inner strength he turned his mount and headed up over the rise out of sight of the gun battle below.

Mort had heard the shots and turned back to check on his brother. He watched as the lawman left his horse and took cover among he rocks. He fired a few shots himself but they all went wide, he never had been any good with a gun anyway. For a while he lost sight of Milo – but them he saw him higher on up the rise, above the lawman. Milo fired and for a moment Mort thought he had hit the man, but apparently not, because it didn't slow him down, he kept firing at all three of them.

For a moment or two he lost track of Milo and Ben. Panic struck, he was on his own for the first time in his life. He spun his horse around not knowing which way to turn. He almost thought of giving himself up when at last he heard Ben coming up behind him, still firing.

"C'mon," Ben yelled to him, we've gotta find Milo and get out of here." Mort followed the third brother up over the rise and it wasn't long before the pair found a trail of blood and followed it to where the twin was barely hanging on to the neck of his horse. He had an ugly bullet wound in his hip. The lawman seemed to have given up because there was no more gunfire coming from his direction, maybe he had gone back to check on the passenger Milo had shot, or maybe he had been hurt. They didn't wait to find out which. Between them, Mort and Ben took he injured brother back to the old homestead they had used as a hide out. It was a long and difficult journey for Milo. Sometimes it took the two of them to keep the injured man on his horse and frequently they had to stop to let him rest.

Mort sat vigil beside his brother for six days doing everything he could to keep the man alive and comfortable. He wanted to go find a doctor but Milo said no, the only one he knew of was in Dodge City, and since he knew he was not going to live, he didn't want his brothers put in danger. Anyway he pointed out, he would rather die here than at the end of a rope. He also told Mort what he thought about the identity of the lawman. He knew it was no small town Sheriff, he explained. He was familiar with all of those in the surrounding area and none was the size of the lawman they had seen. This lawman was tall and rode a distinctive looking buckskin horse. There was only one person it could be, a US Marshal by the name of Dillon, who like the doctor, was based in Dodge City. He had never seen him, but he had heard stories and he was sure that was who it was.

Mort pleaded with his brother to let him go find help – he could not imagine life without Milo being there. In the end all that changed and now he sought only revenge on the man who had taken his brother away from him in such a painful way. It consumed his every breath. Mort promised himself that he would track the lawman and make him suffer and then die just like Milo had done. He believed totally in an eye for an eye, or in this case a life for a life.

Chalfont and Walker buried their fallen comrade behind the barn and set about tracking the lawman. The only thing they knew was that he was wearing a badge. He could have been a Sheriff from some nearby township, but Milo had been pretty certain as to his identity. They doubted he had seen them well enough to recognize them and felt safe in heading off to Dodge City to track him down, even so Mort decided to go in alone and Ben could follow in a day or so.

Mort set of for Dodge City riding a very unremarkable horse with no specific markings. He dressed himself in work pants and a checkered shirt. No one would look at him twice. He rode into the town livery to board his horse for a few days and the first thing he saw was the big buckskin horse, right there in a corner stall. He walked over to get a closer look.

"Good looking animal," he commented to the boy filling water buckets.

"Yeh – he belongs to the Marshal," was the reply. He knew that Milo had been correct – he always was.

Mort got himself a room at the Dodge House and just wandered around the saloons watching and listening. He found out quite a lot. Dillon was fast with a gun, good with his fists and somewhat attached to a red headed saloon girl in the Long Branch. Ben arrived in town a few days later, but they did not acknowledge each other. By mutual consent they had agreed to meet up in Hays City by the end of the week.

TBC


	3. Chapter 3

**Ransom**

Chapter 3

Matt woke up to find it was already dark and by the lack of sound coming from the street he figured it was well past midnight. He had slept longer than he had intended and hoped that Chester had made late night rounds already. He lay there for a while going over the events of the previous day in his mind at the same time flexing his arm to work out the stiffness.

He needed to ride back out and take a look around those rocks. Perhaps he could find some tracks or something that would tell him which way the bandits went, or if he was really lucky, get an idea as to who they were. He had the wallet of the dead man, but all that told him was that his name was Soloman Targis. Where he came from or where he was going, what he did for a living or even what made him decide to fire on the outlaws, all of that was a mystery. He would hand the wallet over to the stage company; they would be responsible for investigating further. They would have records of where he boarded and where he intended to go.

xXx

In the next week Matt and Chester made two trips out to the place where the gun battle had taken place. All he found were two spent bullets, but they gave him nothing useful to go on. They had ridden west along the Stagecoach trail for several miles but never found the tracks he was looking for. He had done everything he could and the first of the cattle drives was about to hit town. Although he hated leaving the dead man's killer go free there was nothing else to be done for now, Dodge City needed him more.

xXx

The arrival of the cattle drives was well under way and things got more and more hectic as drovers, trail bosses and cattle dealers came into town in large numbers. Although Matt was familiar with a few of the regular Texas trail hands that showed up in Dodge every year, most of the people who passed through were total strangers and most of them he would never see again. They came to town, conducted their business and left.

Each night Front Street was invaded by large groups of cowboys trying to drink every bottle of whisky the saloons had purchased from the distilleries. Alcohol led to fights and often to guns being fired. Matt's job was to exert some form of control over the situation; to keep the local citizens safe, to keep the town itself from being torn apart, and to stop the trail hands from killing each other, or him. At the same time the business owners wanted to get a share of the money that flowed almost as freely as the liquor once the drovers got paid and wanted the activities to continue without too much interference from the law. It was a difficult balance to maintain. As a result there were few nights when he got to bed before the light of dawn came sneaking over the horizon and on some, he never got any sleep at all.

The Long Branch as well as the other Dodge City saloons did more business in those few weeks than during the rest of the year put together. Of course most nights the furniture suffered and often there were bullet holes inflicted on the walls, ceilings or floors. Even considering the expenses of repairs, the profits for these times were considerable, but the increase in business also took a toll on the people that ran the saloons. Every time shots rang out or a big fight started in one of the saloons Kitty worried about the safety of her cowboy.

Matt, in his turn, worried about the red headed saloon owner, who night after night risked being taken advantage of by some of the rougher drovers – or worse still by crooked card dealers who showed up during these cattle drives to try to get their share of the money the business brought to town. Inevitably there were accusations of cheating and many times that led to guns being drawn. Money, alcohol and raised tempers were a volatile mix and, sometimes, innocent people got caught in the middle.

During these hectic weeks the one thing the Marshal missed most was the lack of opportunity to spend his nights in that quiet paradise above the Long Branch, in the company of that same saloon owner he worried about. It seemed as if those quiet, sweet times became as unattainable as a pleasant dream he could not quite remember when he woke up.

xXx

Mort's short stay in Dodge had not attracted anyone's attention. There were so many other strangers in town at this time of year that no one noticed the plainly dressed man on the unremarkable horse. He left Dodge and made his way to Hays to meet up with Ben Walker with nothing but vengeance on his mind. He had found his quarry, now he needed to set the trap.

His first intention was to find a gun he could hire. It was evident that neither he nor Ben would stand a hope against the man who had killed his brother. Ben had been playing cards while waiting for Mort to arrive in Hays and heard of a man who called himself "Sparrow". A series of messages were passed back and forth and it seemed they might have found someone who could do the deed for them. A figure of a thousand dollars was discussed and partly agreed on until the intended target was named. A simple message came back, "not interested at any price" and Sparrow was never heard from again.

Hays City was a bigger town than Dodge and it wasn't long before they met up with a young man trying to make a name for himself. He had just killed a well-known rancher in what had seemed to be a fair fight and fancied he could take on anyone for the right incentive.

Mort had offered him the same one thousand dollars he had offered Sparrow. Half would be paid up front and half when the job was complete. Ben had followed the enthusiastic young man to Dodge City carrying the balance of the payment in his pocket and staying as far out of the way as possible. He had been playing a round of cards in the Texas Trail saloon when the gunfight took place. People had all gone outside to watch. He had melded into the crowd wanting to see the challenge take place and be able to report all the details to Mort. He was devastated when he saw their hopes shatter in the dust of Front Street and listened to the people around him as they commented on the event. The general opinion seemed to be that the Marshal led a charmed existence and if anyone did manage take the big man down, his name would be remembered for a long time. It was also apparent from what he saw that Dillon had about as many enemies as he did friends.

When Mort heard the news he paced the floor. Somewhere, somehow he would reap the vengeance he had promised his twin brother. He had heard of a professional gunman in Salina who would take on any man for the right amount of money. He had quite a reputation and his gun had taken down some famous names. He always acted within the law and did not have to hide in the shadows. He would be expensive but it may be their only hope. There was still some money buried back at the homestead that had been their hideout. He took the time to go back and retrieve it and while he was there he renewed his promise to Milo.

A week later Ben Walker and Mort Chalfont boarded the stage for Salina with the intention of meeting Rhett Dalton and coming to a suitable business arrangement.

The meeting was held in a poorly lit saloon located in a back street in a darker section of the town of Salina. It was a place where small groups of men huddled around isolated tables loaded with bottles of cheap whisky and dirty glasses. Cigar smoke hung in the air and furtive handfuls of cash exchanged hands. The table where Mort, Ben and Rhett Dalton sat was no exception.

When Mort named the target they wanted Dalton to take out, the hired gun did not even raise an eyebrow. "Two Thousand dollars," he said, "take it or leave it," and he wanted it all up front.

It took Ben a few nights at the poker tables to raise the full amount and deliver it to the gunman.

"You'll read it in the newspaper," he told them, "no need to follow me, I haven't failed yet."

A week later they did read it in the newspaper but the headline was not the one they were expecting. It reported the demise of Rhett Dalton and his burial on Boot Hill.

xXx

For Dillon there was nothing too unusual when, among the wild weeks of the cattle drives, first one and then another gunslinger arrived in town. Both had one ambition in mind and that was to claim a victory over US Marshal Matt Dillon.

Matt did not think too much about the first man. He had never heard of him, but he arrived in town with a flourish claiming he was here to outdraw the Marshal and make a big name for himself. Matt tried to avoid the fight, he hated killing foolish young men, but it happened anyway. As the young hopeful stood in full view of everyone on Front Street, the Marshal tried to talk him down, advising him to climb on his horse and leave town. He could tell the young man was nervous but something was driving him. He had half a suspicion that someone had hired the man to do a job, but if that had been so, the young gunslinger gave no indication as to who that person was. In the end he had reached for his gun and fired, too fast, not waiting that fraction of a second needed to aim. It was his last mistake. Matt didn't want to fire at him but he had no choice and so Boot Hill gained another resident.

It was perhaps two weeks later that a second competitor arrived, this one on a stagecoach coming from Salina. He wore his gun low on his hip and walked with the swagger of someone believing himself to be invincible. His name was Rhett Dalton. Matt had heard of the man before; he was a hired gun who would do anyone's killing for the right price and by all accounts he was very efficient.

Dillon noted his arrival without obvious concern, although he was probably the only person in town to do so. He had long ago accepted the idea that there would always be someone out there ready to challenge him and his efforts to uphold the law. It was, for him, a fact of life that would eventually lead to his own death.

Kitty was more concerned than most. She had confidence in Matt's ability with a gun – but even so there were others out there who were faster and she hoped that this man wasn't one of them.

"Can't you do something about him, Matt?" she asked one afternoon as they sat appreciating a brief lull in the daily chaos. They were in her rooms enjoying the respite with a quiet glass of brandy.

"Not much I can do unless he breaks the law. There are no warrants out for his arrest, I already checked."

"Well he worries me," she reached her hand over to take his. She felt the hard callouses on his palm and the long smoothness of his fingers.

Matt gave a wry grin, "Unfortunately that isn't a crime I can lock him up for."

He held the proffered hand and raised it slowly to his lips, the softness of his touch encompassed Kitty in a familiar warmth.

"I have to go now but I'll be back later," he mumbled feeling the same reluctance to end the moment.

She hated to watch him leave and listened, straining her ears, to catch the last of his foot falls on the outside stairs. There was silence for a while, then voices came wafting up from the street below. The voices were muffled at first but quickly became louder and more demanding, then suddenly punctuated by three gun shots and then a forth following a second or two behind. Her heart jumped to her throat but she forced herself to go to the window and look down on the drama being enacted below. She could see him standing there unharmed and let go of the breath that had been unconsciously locked inside her. The gods had been with him yet again.

xXx

Mort Chalfont became more frustrated as time went on. Every scheme he had devised had failed. Milo's schemes always worked out – what was wrong with his plan.

In the end he decided it would be up to Ben and him. They didn't have enough money to hire anyone else. For a few days he moped around Salina while Ben played cards with the little bit of money they had left. He finished up with about seven hundred dollars, enough for two tickets on the stage to Dodge and a little over five hundred left in reserve.

They climbed aboard the noon stage, which tuned out to be full, so there was not a lot of room inside the coach – one cowboy was even riding on the roof. They made good time to Tall Trees relay station where, during the stop over, Mort noticed the shotgun. He was a young man with a surly attitude and a low paying job. The germ of an idea was brewing in his mind – it was an idea Milo would have been proud of.

TBC


	4. Chapter 4

**Stagecoach**

Chapter 4

Heat, dust and sweat. People forget about the discomforts of summer once they got to their hotel room or the safety of their own home. For the shotgun rider there was no such relief. Riding shotgun on a stage run was not a pleasant way to earn a living – not that it paid well enough to actually enable a body to live. Jerome Burton had been doing this job for about a year now and was getting no closer to having enough money to ask Martha to marry him than he was before he took the job. He must have been crazy. Sitting up here in the heat of summer, cold of winter even through the torrential downpours that came in springtime, that was all part of this job that he thought would quench his urge to travel. Add to all the physical discomforts and the likelihood of getting killed if bandits attacked the stage, it was a wonder there was anyone willing to take on the job at all. The drivers got paid a lot better and sometimes got tips from a passenger for making good time, but no one ever thought to tip the shotgun.

He was supposed to be alert, watching for any sign that road agents might be in the vicinity, but even as the bumps and sways of the box he was sitting on jarred his spine, his mind was far away. At twenty-five years of age he should be doing something better than this, something where people respected him more, something that would enable him to have money in his pocket, enough money so that he could ask Martha to marry him and enough money to buy a home for her.

This run had started in Salina two days ago, and they were headed for Dodge City by way of Hays. So far they had changed drivers twice, but the company figured a shotgun didn't have to do much – just sit there and watch, so he had to ride the whole trip to earn his pay.

In about another ten minutes they would arrive at Tall Trees relay station where they would stop for at least two hours to give the passengers a break and the driver chance to check the stagecoach for any damage from the road. They had a full coach with six inside and one poor latecomer cowboy who was riding on the roof –of course he only had to pay half fare for that privilege. Two of the men riding inside were about his age, they were both well dressed and had money in their pockets. He wanted to be like that.

Once they were inside the station he got to eat a meal of beans and some kind of meat that the company paid for, then he was pretty much on his own. He did not want to go help the driver, feeling that they did not pay him enough to be out there checking axles and harness. The driver could well do that on his own.

He was standing by the door plunging a dipper into a bucket of drinking water when one of the two well-dressed men came to talk to him. After a few pleasantries the stranger invited him to come and play a hand or two of poker. "Not for big stakes," the man had emphasized, "just a little something to help us pass the time."

Jerome learned that their names were Mort Chalfont and Ben Walker.

They sat at the same small greasy table where everyone who passed through this dust hole ate and drank, and Mort produced a deck of cards from an inside coat pocket. The other passengers had left the building and were sitting in the relative cool of the front porch.

The cards were cut and dealt. Much to his amazement Jerome picked up his hand to find a pair of jacks already dealt to him. He finished up that first round with a pair of aces and a pair of Jacks. He had never been lucky at cards and could not believe his good fortune, by the time the driver called everyone to board again, he had $50.00 dollars in his pocket that he hadn't had an hour ago and the two men were slapping him on the back and telling him what a great poker player he was. He had never had fifty dollars in his whole life and wondered how long his luck would last. He knew there were a number of saloons in Dodge City where high stakes poker was played and maybe he could join a game and make some big time money after all.

They left Tall Trees station and headed southwest towards Dodge about a five hour ride ahead with only one short stop on the way to change horses.

As usual the driver sped up as they rounded the curve into Dodge City's Front Street and whipped up the dust and dirt as he pulled up right in front of the depot. Jerome never understood the need for all that showmanship.

His work was over for this ride and he left the driver to hand down bags and such to the passengers while he went into the depot office to deliver the mail bag and sign off on the trip.

Jerome had got himself a room at the Dodge House, the company was paying for it, after all, so why sleep in a cheap rooming house? He would have a two-day layover in this town before he rode shotgun once more, on the stage back to Salina. Not much of a life, he thought, riding the same trail back and forth for a miserable paycheck.

He rested for a few hours then started to make his way over to the Texas Trail saloon. He had heard that their beer was the cheapest in town and there were usually some pretty low stakes card games going on. He hadn't gone a dozen steps along the boardwalk when a familiar voice called to him.

"Hey Jerry!" He liked how they had shortened his name from Jerome – he never did like the sound of that, but at the same time, never had the mind to change it. He half turned to see Ben Walker from the stagecoach coming up behind him. Before he had chance to reply the two men he had met at Tall Trees slapped him on the back and propelled him across the street to the Long Branch. Jerome knew this was the 'classiest' place in town and poker hands here demanded high stakes. He started to object but they pushed his objections aside and ushered him on. Once inside Ben sat with him at an empty table while Mort went to the bar and returned with three glasses and a bottle of whisky. The glassware clanked noisily as he set it on the table with a flourish before pulling out a chair for himself.

The whisky was poured and the three men sipped in silence for a few moments, appreciating the effects of the rough liquid as it burned its way across their tongues and down their throats. With it came a sense of relief and relaxation. A few moments passed before Ben Walker drew a pack of cards from his pocket.

"Let's see if you luck still holds," he said grinning towards Jerome.

The young man was excited but a little reticent at the same time, even so, his new friends urged him on and finally he accepted.  
The first few hands went well and he began playing with a little more confidence. He was already $100 ahead when Mort Chalfont began upping the ante a little so that in the next hand it cost him more to stay in the game. His confidence grew and overcame his caution when he drew three cards and finished up with a straight, beating out Mort's three of a kind and Ben Walker' pair of tens.

He won $60 dollars that time and, despite the voice inside him that kept saying this should not be happening, he kept playing. It was about the fifth deal that things started to go wrong.

He picked up the five cards he had been dealt and found he had a pair of aces. Pretty good, he thought considering how his luck had been going. He participated in the first round of betting, which somehow turned out to be a little higher than he had been accustomed to, but still, he reminded himself, he was already $160 ahead today alone, so in the end he did not feel too bad about placing the $80 needed to stay in the game, on the table. He drew three cards and got a pair of fives. Two pair was a pretty good hand so he was happy to put down another $50.

Sadly when the cards were shown Mort had a straight with 8 high. Just like that he had lost all but $30 of todays winnings. He wanted to back out before another round was dealt, but somehow he let himself be talked into trying his luck again. The whisky and the camaraderie of his new friends convinced him it would be bound to come back and pushed his caution aside. Ben even agreed to lend him some money so he could continue. He knew he shouldn't do it, but the feeling he had felt when he won those first two rounds was something he had never known before and he wanted to feel it again. Against his better judgment he continued and before long found himself owing Ben Walker $500.00.

"I have to stop," he told the two gamblers, "I don't have any more money."

"Maybe you can get an advance on your wages," Bill suggested, "you owe me $500.00 and I can't let you just walk away from that."

With what Jerome earned it would take several months to pay back that amount of money – even if he didn't eat."

"I'll pay you back, I promise, but it will take a while."  
"I can't let you just walk out of here owing me that money, maybe you can borrow it from someone else and pay them back gradually, I need my money now."

Jerome noticed that Walker and Chalfont had both were keeping their eyes on one of the saloon girls. Chalfont had called her to their table a time or two to order more whisky. He had tried to get his hands on her more than once but she had deftly avoided his touch, to which he had laughed.

"Tell you what, Jerry, I'm your friend and I think I have a way you can earn that money real easy. Just one quick job and the debt will be gone. Shouldn't even take you an hour. Just come on outside with me and I'll explain to you."

The three men left the saloon and walked across the street to the Dodge House. They went up to Mort Chalfont's room where Jerome found himself sitting on the bed, glass of whisky in hand, facing his two former card playing friends. He was almost shaking in his boots, knowing that any job paying $500 for an hours work was probably on the wrong side of the law, and he had been in Dodge enough times to know who the law was in this town.

Ben looked at the young man, visibly shaking, as he sat on the bed in front of him.

"C'mon now Jerry it ain't that bad, ain't even against the law." He filled a whisky glass and handed it to the shotgun rider. Jerome took a swallow to calm his nerves somehow he didn't believe that, but was prepared to listen. Walker continued.

"See, my friend Mort here has his eyes on that red headed saloon girl back there," he pointed vaguely across the street, "but there are always too many people around in the Long Branch for her to spend any time with him. You understand don't you that he needs a little time to talk to her – let her know what a generous upstanding fellow he is, then he's sure she'd stay around and get to know him better. Right now – well she doesn't have time to sit and talk to him."

"So what is it you want me to do?"  
"Just kind of get her away from the place for a few minutes, like get her to come out into the alley," he was pacing the floor now finger to his face as if he was thinking this up on the spur of the moment. "Yeh that's all you have to do – get her to come out into the alley so Mort can meet her, then the $500 is a thing of the past."

Ben had beckoned Jerome to come to the window and was pointing across the street to an alleyway that ran alongside the Long Branch.

"Why don't you do it, why ask me?" Jerome looked away from the scene below and walked back towards the bed. He did not really trust these men and was sure there was more to it than Ben was saying.

"She's ..er.. seen me around too often, won't listen to me, We both think you would have a much better chance," Mort added to the conversation.

"I don't know, supposing she won't listen to me. I don't know how to talk to women."

"Come on now," Mort continued, "you really don't have anyway to pay back this debt and we can't let you walk out on it, much as we'd like to. Word gets around you know and every body would be trying to take us for a few hundred dollars here and there. Pretty soon we'd be broke. Seriously you don't have much choice – and once you've got her out there in the ally you can leave – forget all about it."

"Well supposing she still won't talk to you," Jerome was searching for straws now, "what then? Am I still out of debt?"

"You get her to step outside into the alley and the $500 is forgiven – that's all there is to it. Of course you can't tell anyone else about our deal – everyone would want such an easy way out of debt."

Jerome thought the deal over in his head. What harm could there be in it. Mort just wanted to talk to the lady, that couldn't hurt anything. He had been in Dodge several times before and had noticed that the Marshal and the red headed lady were good friends, possibly more than that, but he had to admit he had never seen any indication of anything more serious. He often saw the tall lawman propping up the bar next to her, or seated at the table alongside her. He really doubted that Mort had a hope of catching her interest – but that was not his problem. All he – Jerome – had to do was to get her out into the alley. Surely he could do that for $500. Of course he wouldn't want to be in Mort's shoes if the Marshal found out he was interested in the lady – but that was not his problem either. He'd do it.

"I'll do it after the lunch time crowd tomorrow," he finally told his gambler friends. I will be riding shotgun on the stage out of here at 3 o'clock so that will give me plenty of time."  
The two men he was talking with exchanged glances – that would work fine for them. "Just one thing Jerry," Ben was looking straight at him so that Jerome could feel those hard cold eyes almost piercing his heart, "you do your job and get her out there then leave, no looking back or anything, just disappear and forget it ever happened, after all Mort here doesn't want to be embarrassed if she turns him down."

That sounded perfect – he didn't want to hang around anyway. He would check out of his room and have his stuff stashed at the stage depot – that way once he had cleared his debt he would be gone. He thought he would never want to come back to Dodge or see a deck of cards again. Luck was indeed a ficle mistress.

TBC


	5. Chapter 5

**Stagecoach**

Chapter 5

Jerome packed his few possessions in the small canvas sac he used as a carry all, left the Dodge House behind, and strolled across Front Street to the Stage Depot. The Clerk knew him well, not that the surly young man had ever spoken more than a mumbled greeting.

"You going out on the 3 o'clock?" The clerk was not really interested but made an effort to be cordial.

" Yeh, I'll be back before its ready to leave." He threw the sack in a corner behind the door and made his way down the boardwalk in the direction of the Long Branch. He still had no idea how he would get the red headed lady to step out into the alley, but if he didn't do it somehow, Ben Walker was not going to forgive the $500 debt.

With somewhat reluctant steps he walked through the swing doors. The place was almost deserted at this hour of the day and he stood there watching for a moment as the two bartenders and the woman were clearing up the remains of the lunchtime business. One of the bartenders looked up and was about to ask him what he wanted when the lady in question picked up a wooden crate and said something about taking it out back.

Jerome quickly saw his opportunity, maybe lady luck wasn't so fickle after all.

"Oh Ma'am, please let me take that for you." He almost ran to gather up the crate that had once contained full whisky bottles. "Just show me where you want it."

Kitty smiled to herself, poor young cowboy, she thought – trying to earn himself a free beer. She would go along with it.

"All right," she smiled as he willingly tucked the box under his arm, then went ahead of him, through the office, and opened the door that lead out into the alley.

"Go ahead Ma'am," he said politely, "just show me where you want me to put this."

xXx

For Kitty, waking up in complete darkness was a disconcerting experience. Carefully she went through the flashes of memory in her head and decided that the last thing she recalled was showing that young man where to put the empty whisky bottle crate. Maybe there was a faint memory of a smell, vaguely familiar, something she had smelled before, maybe in Doc's office, but then nothing but this blackness. She tried to move and finding no resistance, sat up. Reaching for her face her fingers met a covering, a blindfold, which she removed. It didn't improve maters much, but even so her eyes blinked shut at the sudden exposure to the few beams of light seeping through small cracks between pieces of wood nailed over a window. As her eyes adapted she could see she was in a small room with a bed a chair, and a round table. The blanket on the bed where she had been lying was reasonably clean and a thin quilt, faded but not too tattered, was folded across the foot.

She stood up carefully, feeling a little light headed at first, then walked around the perimeter of the room. There was one door, she tried it, gently at first, but it was locked or barred and she could not get it to move at all. Eventually, throwing caution to the winds, she began pounding on the door and yelling to be let out by anyone who might be listening.

From somewhere on the other side of the wooden barricade, a voice called out.

"Just be quiet in there, no one's goin' to hurt you. I'll bring you some food after a while."

Having got a reply she was encouraged to continue calling out, telling them that they had no right to keep her here, and people would come looking for her. Nothing seemed to get the attention of the disembodied voice coming from what ever was on the other side of the door. After a while she gave up.

Walking over to the window she tried to pry off one of the boards, but they were all nailed firmly in place and with only fingers to work with there was no hope. She tried looking through the gaps and got fragmented images of small scrubby trees and bushes in an otherwise unremarkable landscape – she could be anywhere in Ford County – or maybe beyond, come to that.

She went back to sit on the bed and was examining the perfectly manicured nails of her right hand which now showed signs of wear from her attacks on the boards. She was just about to get up and pace the floor again when the voice called from the other side of the door.

"Put that blindfold back on and I'll bring your supper."

She thought about that a moment.

"And what happens if I don't want to?" she called back – defiant as ever.

"Listen ma'am, I don't plan to harm you, but I don't want you to be able to identify me either. If you see my face I can't let you leave here alive."  
"What is it you want then?"

The voice on the other side of the door was getting impatient.

"I'm not here to discuss the situation with you. I'm going to unlock this door and come in. The choice is yours, if you see my face you will never see Dodge City again."

Kitty decided to go along with the demands for the time being and obediently tied the blindfold around her eyes.

She heard a lock turn and footsteps enter the room.

"Glad you're being sensible," the voice said, "I ain't never hurt a woman, and I don't plan to start now unless you make me."

"Then what do you call kidnapping me and bringing me here against my will?"

"I'm sorry about that but it was necessary. You're not really the one we want, you are just here to make sure I can get my hands on him. He killed my brother and .. well I made a promise."

The man's voice almost cracked when he spoke of his brother, Kitty could almost have felt sorry for him except for the fact that something dawned on her. This man was not after her. He was after Matt and she was bait in the trap.

"Who is it you're after?" her voice was a little tentative as she asked the question – she knew the answer already, but hearing it said aloud would make it certain.

"You don't need to know that."

She heard a tray being set on the table, could sense the presence of another body in the room.

"Once you hear the door lock you can take the blindfold off. Just call out if you need anything. If you do as you're told you have my word that you won't be harmed."

There were no more words spoken. She heard the footsteps retreat and the door being closed and locked.

xXx

Jerome Burton quickly dropped the crate he had been carrying out to the alley behind the Long Branch, then took off running when he heard a scuffling and a stifled cry behind him. As he had been ordered, he did not look back, but when he reached Front Street's boardwalk he slowed his pace to a walk. From the sounds he heard, Mort had wanted more than a quiet conversation, and now he had got himself involved in something that could get him in big trouble - especially if the Marshal was around. It had all taken less time than he expected and he doubted the stage would have even pulled into the depot yet, but he made his way there anyway, having nowhere else to go. He tried to stroll casually but he could feel his heart beating so loudly in his chest that he was sure anyone he passed could hear it too. Fortunately for him the stagecoach came rumbling down the street behind him and pulled to a stop in front of the Overland Office. He quickened his pace, it would be best for him if they pulled out as soon as possible.

He was not familiar with the driver. This one's name was Tex. That was probably not his given name, but there were many men out here on the frontier who forgot they ever had a given name. The clerk in the office was surprised when the usually sullen shotgun started loading the passengers bags onto the roof. He had never before seen him lift a hand to help, but now it seemed he could not do enough. Tex, who knew no different, just walked around the stage checking it for damage and finding everything intact helped switch out the team. They left town promptly at 3 o'clock.

xXx

Matt and Chester got back to town late that afternoon, but before they even reached the jail Sam was running along the boardwalk. The Marshal had just swung his leg over the saddle and touched the ground.

"Marshal, I can't find Miss Kitty." The breathless words landed on Matt's ears like a hard fist.

"What do you mean Sam?"

"Nobody's seen her since after lunch. Usually she comes and helps get ready for the evening shift, when she didn't I went and knocked on her door but got no answer. I looked inside but I don't think she had been in there all day. Everything was all tidy and the bed smoothed down."

"Well maybe she went to do some shopping, why don't you go check with Mr. Jonas and see if she has been there."

"I already did that Marshal."

Matt was worried, a nervous knot started to form in his stomach. Kitty sometimes took a notion to go off by herself for a few hours – and goodness knows he couldn't blame her for that, but it was strange she never told anyone. Outwardly he remained calm and in control, but that was not how he felt inside.

"Go back to the Long Branch Sam and I'll be along in a minute."

"What do ya think could have happened to her Mr. Dillon?" Chester sounded worried.

"Tell you what, you take the horses along to Moss Grimmick's and ask him if Kitty came and took her horse out this afternoon. I'll walk along and check around at the Long Branch."

Matt didn't really start to feel terror until he walked around the alley and found signs of a scuffle. One set of shoe prints definitely belonged to a woman and that made his heart beat faster. There had been several men's boots passing through there. What concerned him most was that Kitty's prints suddenly stopped, one of the men's prints became pressed more deeply into the ground as if he had picked up a weight and was carrying it. He started to follow but with all the traffic through here the trail became blurred and lost in a jumble of horse hooves, wagon wheels and footprints. He looked around for anything else that might tell him what happened but all he could find was a broken whisky crate and a few old discarded barrels and boxes.

He started back towards the office when a grubby little kid, who he could not place, came up and looked at him curiously.

"Yer the Marshal?"  
"Yes I am." The words barely left his mouth before the kid stuffed the creased-up note into his hand and took off in the direction of the railroad depot.

Matt didn't bother to try to catch him, the boy had just been used as a messenger. The note had a simple but troubling message.

_I am holding a friend of yours. No harm will come to her if you follow these instructions._

_Tell no one. Ride west of town for 20 miles then turn south. Keep riding, I will meet you._

_Be sure you come alone._

The note was not signed and there was no indication where it came from.

He turned around and headed back to the livery. Chester was still there talking to Moss.

"Mr. Dillon, Moss says that Miss Kitty never came by here today."

"I know Chester. Saddle my horse again."

"But I jest unsaddled him, where'ya going?"

Matt handed him the crumpled note. "I have to go. I don't want you to follow or do anything to endanger her life.

"Mr. Dillon, it must be a trap."

"Probably, but I don't have a choice. Just look after things here for me. I'll bring her back."

Chester was concerned, he wanted to go along but at the same time didn't want to do anything to make Kitty's situation worse. Now he was worried about both his friends.

He stood alongside Moss Grimmick watching as his boss took off along Front Street heading west out of town. The light was already beginning to fade and it would be dark within the hour. The Marshal would never get that far tonight.

His thoughts were interrupted by the livery owner, who had turned to look at him. "What's going on Chester, you and the Marshal just rode in, and now he's leaving again?"

Chester looked down at the note in his hands.

"I jist cain't tell yer Moss, I wish I could but it might make things worse for Miss Kitty and Mr. Dillon." Chester rammed the note into his pocket and went off to look for Doc.

TBC


	6. Chapter 6

**Ransom**

Chapter 6

Matt rode out into the fading light and headed west. His mind was a turmoil of horror, fear and anger. The horror came from knowing that someone would have abducted Kitty in order to get to him. That was the only reason he could think of why anyone should do that. The fear was not for himself but for her, she must be terrified and feel so alone. She might feel abandoned, not know that he was coming to rescue her and what if they were hurting her or – no he couldn't think of that, if they did that to her he was not sure he could control his actions, that was when the anger came in.

He covered the first ten miles in under and hour – a good speed when there was so little light. Soon it became too dark to continue without risking injury to his horse, even so he continued on for the next ten miles, then turned south as instructed and kept going at a walking pace trusting his mount to sense any hazard in the ground under his feet.

He couldn't bring himself to stop for the night – he wouldn't be able to sleep or even rest, the anxiety he was feeling kept him moving on. He knew this region well, having ridden it frequently in daylight hours, now there was only a crescent moon and starlight to guide him, but under these circumstances, with his body full of nervous energy it would be enough.

Unable to see the familiar landmarks, he used the stars of the summer constellations to maintain his sense of direction. He rode south for what he figured was about twenty or twenty-five miles before the first light of day crept over the horizon behind his left shoulder. He stopped briefly at a small creek so that both he and the horse could drink. A vague concern hovered in the back of his mind that the animal could give out on him, but he knew the buckskin came from stouthearted stock and would last longer than most.

He mounted up again and continued, there was no breakfast or even a cup of coffee, but that did not give rise to too much discomfort. His mind was on Kitty to the exclusion of all else.

Another hours riding, now at a trot, and he began to notice another sensation, someone was watching him. He kept moving forward deliberately keeping his hand away from his gun. He did not want to spook the kidnappers into doing something hastily. He had not come all this way just to get her killed by some young outlaw with a nervous trigger finger.

He kept on riding, not adjusting his speed, just staying focused on the task in hand.

At the same time he could not help but feel his follower coming closer but staying off to his left side somewhere behind scrub and the natural lie of the land which afforded a little cover. The man was that smart anyway, being off to the left like that, it would take Dillon a split second longer to draw and aim his gun if it came down to it, than if he had been on the right.

Another ten maybe fifteen minutes passed and a voice called to him.

"Marshal, stop right there and don't turn round. I want you to take off your gun belt very slowly and drop it. Before you try anything remember I am not alone and that the woman is with my partner, if he hears gunfire it will be all over for her."

"I'm not trying anything." Matt almost felt relief now that he was about to come face to face with whoever was doing this. Slowly he did as he was ordered and let the gun and holster fall to the ground.

"I'm holding a gun on you Dillon so don't move." He heard the man get down and retrieve the gun. "Now just move on forward till I tell you to stop."

They rode about another mile in silence before Matt caught sight of a small building, probably the remains of a homesteader's place that had been deserted and left to its own devices.

"Get down from your horse Dillon, and remember no tricks or the woman will suffer the consequences."

The Marshal stepped down from the buckskin and resisted the urge to look around. There would be a time for escape once Kitty was clear.

"Now unsaddle him and send him on his way."

Dillon took his time unfastening the cinch and lifting the saddle down from the animals back. He placed it carefully on the ground while trying to see as much of the surrounding landscape as possible. Such knowledge could come in useful later. At the same time he didn't want to attract unwanted attention from the man behind him with the gun.

He took the reins and turned the animal back to face the way he had come before slipping the bridle from his head. He used the leather to whack the horse's croup, making it look like he hit him a whole lot harder than he really did. The buckskin took off at a slow canter and while his captor had something else to occupy his mind for the moment Dillon carefully laid the bridle down in a small batch of scrub, just out of sight. He might be needing it later, he thought. He knew the horse wouldn't run far, he was too tired, that too could be useful.

The outlaw came up beside Matt and grabbed his arm. Matt could feel the barrel of the pistol in his ribs.

"Just do exactly as I tell you now and the little lady won't be hurt, understand?"

Matt just nodded, he could be patient when the situation required it.

"All right, bring her on out," he called to whoever was inside the cabin.

Matt watched as a door at the side of the building opened and the second man appeared, holding a gun in one hand and pushing a blindfolded Kitty out in front of him with the other. Matt had difficulty holding his ground, he wanted to run to her and take her in his arms, ask her if she was hurt, just get her away from here, but he knew he had to remain calm and not rile the man behind him with the gun. Several scenarios played out in his mind but there were two guns on the scene now, and he had neither of them. He thought he could easily take the man next to him, but Kitty would stand a good chance of getting hurt if he did.

The second man walked his prisoner away from the building and over to a half dead tree about fifty feet from the building. Matt could see that her hands were tied behind her. Kitty felt the man lean into her. She felt his warm stale breath on her face as he whispered in her ear. "Just do exactly as you're told and in a few minutes you'll be able to leave. I have a gun on you and my partner has one on the Marshal – it's up to you now. Stand very still and don't touch that blindfold till we tell you." He pushed her back against the tree. "Very still," he repeated.

She could sense that he walked away and wanted to call out to Matt to see if he was all right. She desperately wanted to remove the covering from her eyes so she wouldn't feel so helpless. She wanted to look at Matt's face, just to see him, but at the same time knew that these men meant what they said. The result was that she controlled her feelings and stood stock still waiting to see what happened.

"All right Marshal," the man at his side said, "you can go over and untie her hands – but the blindfold stays on for now. No talking, both my partner and I have a gun on you, and believe me you will regret any attempt to escape.

She stood about twenty paces from him, maybe he could grab her and make an escape, but it would be too risky. He knew his first obligation was to get Kitty away safely. These men had carefully planned this and taken all the precautions they could, he really believed now that they intended to let her go. Of course she was about 40 miles from Dodge - that would be a long, hard walk, but he had an idea.

He walked slowly, formulating a plan as he went.

"You all right Kitty?" He barely breathed the words and had his face turned away from his captors.

He was close to her now and she could smell his familiar scent.

"I'm fine."

She made to turn so he could reach the rope biding her hands.

"No stay still," he breathed again, moving behind her.

He bent his head down as if looking at the knots so that his captors would not see him talking.

"Listen carefully," he spoke in a soft whisper, "about fifteen feet ahead of you and slightly left, there is some scrub." He worked furiously at the ropes making it look as if he was busy trying to loosen them.

"The Buckskin's bridle is hidden there. Exactly to your left and about half a mile away, there is a rise with a shallow creek running at the bottom. I think he will be there. Catch him and head north, about 30 miles to the main road, then turn east."

His last few words were interrupted, "What's taking you so long?"

"Maybe I need a knife to cut this."

"No knife. If I have to come over there, she'll be hurt."

Matt fiddled a little more with the rope to make it look good, then threw it to the ground.

"You stay right where you are lady, and don't take that blindfold off till I tell you. Understand?"

She nodded. "Now Marshal come over here and get your saddle, we'll take it inside. No sense leaving it for someone to find."

"Do as he says Kitty," were Matt's parting words, she could barely hear them, she wanted so badly to see his face.

"My partner is watching from the house, he has his gun aimed at the woman Dillon so no funny business." The man was smart, he stayed well enough away that Matt could not use the saddle as a weapon. His turn would come though. He had to admit that having the other man covering them from the house was a smart move, it gave an element of uncertainty that stopped him from taking any risk – at least for now.

Matt swung the heavy saddle up onto his shoulder and headed for the house as instructed. The other man was standing just inside the door, still aiming at Kitty.

Matt's captor stayed back and indicated for Matt to go inside.

"What about letting her go?"

"It's all planned, go sit over there." The man indicated a chair in the middle of the room. Then he leaned out the door, "You can remove the blindfold now ma'am, head north and don't look back." He slammed the door closed and turned to look through the window. Matt needed to cause enough distraction that Kitty could get the bridle without being seen.

He threw himself at the second outlaw and landed a few good punches. He was trying to make time for Kitty.

For a smaller man the outlaw had a lot of power in his fists and landed a couple of heavy punches to Matt's face. Matt couldn't understand why the other man hadn't fired – if he could subdue this one he would go for the gun. All this was going through his mind when a sudden pain followed by an explosion of stars in his head made everything go dark.

xXx

Kitty quickly removed the blindfold – the bright light of day made her squint her eyes. There was no gunfire or new instructions. She got her bearings and went to the small bushes Matt had told her about. Quickly her eyes found the bridle, just like he had said, and she grabbed it and began to run. The first thought in her mind was to go get help. On foot it would take days, but if she could find the buckskin she could be in Dodge before nightfall and surely Chester could raise a posse and come back to rescue the Marshal.

She was reluctant to leave, but without a gun and by herself she knew there was not much she could do. She headed in the direction Matt had told her and after half an hour's walk, came across the small stream he had mentioned. She looked around, at first not seeing the horse. She climbed a little higher. Matt had been so certain he would be here. Then at last, among some short cottonwood trees she saw him. Now her only problem was to catch him. She knew to stay down wind so he wouldn't catch her scent and run off before she even got close. Carefully and as quietly as she could she circled her way around him getting closer all the time. Once or twice he lifted his head as if sensing something, but the patch of grass he had found won out and he went back to grazing. She was so close now and began working her way towards his shoulder.

"It's all right Buck, it's only me." The animal could see her now, his first instinct was to run, but there was something familiar in her voice and the scent she gave off. He stood there for a moment and it gave her the opportunity to throw one end of the reins over his neck.

"Good boy," she cooed to him. The animal was so tall it was almost impossible for her to reach up and get the bridle over his ears. Somehow he knew what she wanted and lowered his head a little, just for a second, but it was long enough. She got the bit in his mouth and the bridle in place.

"That was the easy part," Kitty said aloud, whether to herself or the horse, she didn't know. What she did know was that it was not going to be easy for her to climb up on his back. Two attempts ended in failure. She did not have enough strength in her arms to pull herself up that far. She looked around for a tree stump or a rock she could stand on, but couldn't find one. In frustration she took the reins in hand and led him on, further up the rise.

TBC


	7. Chapter 7

**Ransom**

Chapter 7

Chester left Moss Grimmick's stables and half hopped, half ran along the boardwalk to the office of Doctor Adams. After taking the steps two at a time he was out of breath by the time he opened the door and almost fell inside.

Adams was replenishing his medical bag and looked up to see what all the commotion was about.

"Well good heavens Chester, is there a fire or something?"  
"No it's worse than that Doc. Somebody's taken Miss Kitty and Mr. Dillon has gone off to find her, but.." the jailer's words were falling over each other as they tumbled uncontrollably from his mouth.

"Whoa now slow down and tell me what's going on." Doc had stopped what he was doing and was trying to follow what Chester was saying.

"Oh Doc, lookey here." Chester took the crumpled piece of paper from his pocket and, in a fluster, pushed it at the physician. "Just read that, then, and tell me what you think it means." He started pacing the floor of the office while the older man read the note.

As Adams read his face became serious. He swiped his mustache a time or two and looked at the jailer.

"What did Matt say?" His manner was more somber now.

"He said not to follow him, he would see that Miss Kitty got back all right."

Now it was Doc's turn to pace the floor. He walked back and forth a few times.

"Chester I think you should go and find Sam and two or three good men and have them be ready to head out. You don't need to follow too closely – maybe wait until tomorrow. Whatever's going on it seems important that Matt is by himself – we don't want to upset whoever is doing this and cause anyone to get hurt unnecessarily."

Chester wasn't too enthused with the plan, he didn't want to have to wait all night worrying about two of the most important people in his life, but Doc had a point, and after all, his boss was a resourceful man.

xXx

When Matt came to, he found that his right hand was manacled to a bed. He lay still for a while trying to get his bearings. He hadn't opened his eyes yet, just used his ears to hear what was going on around him. He could hear voices, but they were not close by, maybe off in another room or something. He didn't want to let on that he was awake; any little advantage could be useful. After a few minutes he took the risk of looking around with out moving his head. The room he was in was poorly lit. He seemed to be, as he had already surmised, alone, but there was an open door leading to a second room from where the voices were coming. He listened more intently, trying to catch words or get some idea of who his captors were.

He shifted his head slightly and a waft of fragrance floated up from the pillow he was lying on, it was a very familiar scent. This must be where they had held Kitty. The whole episode from earlier came back to him, he had done his best to help her escape, he hoped she had managed to track down the buckskin, and at least ride to some form of shelter before nightfall.

He tested the strength of the restraint on his wrist and figured with a little time he might be able to loosen it. As he was studying it the light from the other room became blocked as the shape of a man partially filled the doorway. He couldn't see the man's face because the light was behind him, but he knew there was nothing familiar about him.

As the man came further into the room, the light played more on his face. It was not a face he had seen on any wanted poster. The man was smiling – not a pleasant, welcoming smile, more one of self-satisfaction.

"You don't know who I am do you Marshal?"

Matt pulled himself into a sitting position as best he could with his arm attached to the bed. He didn't reply to the question, figuring whoever this was would be telling him that anyway.

He was right because after a breath or two, the man continued

"My name is Mort Chalfont, you killed my brother Milo." Anger had replaced the smile on the man's face. "You shot him, Dillon, you killed him, but he died slowly and in pain. I sat with him for six days while he died. He was my twin brother, do you understand what that means?" The man's voice was rising in pitch, almost screaming by the time he uttered the last words. He took a breath and came over to the bed and looked closely at Dillon.

"I'm going to see that you die just like Milo did."

He reached out and swung his fist into the Marshal's jaw. Matt did his best to go with the punch to minimize its effect. Then swung his free left hand around to catch his attackers wrist. He misjudged the distance and Chalfont stepped back just beyond his reach and pulled his gun.

Matt could feel his lip bleeding but didn't put his hand up to it. He kept his eyes focused on the man, trying not to show any weakness.

"What did your brother do?" He asked in a calm, quiet voice, attempting to dampen the excitement in Chalfont's eyes.

"You shoot so many men you don't remember?"

"And you kidnap woman," Matt retorted, trying to sound calm and reasonable.

"I didn't harm her, and I kept my word about letting her go."  
"It's a long walk back to Dodge." Matt was trying to keep the conversation going, he was not sure why but it seemed the prudent thing to do.

"I figured it would take her two or three days to get there, long enough for what I need to do."  
"That's a long walk for a man. Almost impossible for a woman, it's about the same as killing."

"Don't you talk to me about killing. My brother's blood is on your hands and I am going to see you pay for it.

"You could undo this," he lifted up his manacled wrist, "and make it a fair fight."

The outlaw almost seemed to consider the offer for a minute. Then he turned back with renewed vengeance.

"You think you're clever trying to talk me into that. I know I can't beat you in a fair fight. I've seen how fast you are with a gun."  
"How about fists, I'll fight you without guns."

"You'd win that way too."

"I'll take the two of you on." Matt indicated the man in the other room by nodding his head in that direction.

"My way's better, I'm going to put a bullet in your leg and watch you die."

The man raised his gun and took aim. Matt braced himself for the shot that he knew was coming, but it didn't; the man hesitated in spite of the vicious hate in his words. Slowly he lowered the gun, turned and left the room. Matt wished he had closed the door behind him, that way he could work on getting loose, but the door remained open.

xXx

Kitty led the horse off, up towards the crest of the rise. Once she reached it she stood there looking around. There was nothing familiar to get a sense of where she was. Matt had said to keep heading north, following the same direction the rise. She looked behind and then ahead to gauge her path. In doing so, she saw a medium sized boulder off to her left, and leading the buckskin towards it, suddenly found a reserve of energy. She had not eaten in about two days – fortunately the stream she had crossed provided clean water for drinking, even so a meal would be good.

Using the rock as a mounting block, she finally managed to haul herself up onto Matt's horse. There was no saddle – but a slow trot would not be too uncomfortable and it would be a lot faster than walking.

Even going at a trot, the animal covered a lot of ground, and after what she thought was an hour or so she began to think she had seen this landscape before. As she urged her mount forward she was wracking her brain and the further she travelled the more certain she became she had been here before. At last she remembered, the Simmonds place was near here. She had been helping Doc on one of his visits to deliver a baby. It must be two years ago now. The ranch was about 10 miles to the west, that would be in the opposite direction from where she was headed, but Dodge was probably three times that distance away. Maybe Hank Simmonds could send one of his hands to get help. They could ride a lot faster than she could, add to that it would be dark soon and she didn't want to campout alone here miles from anywhere if she could avoid it. She didn't want to make the wrong choice, after all Matt's life was at stake. She took a minute to weigh the options in her head then patted the buckskins neck, and headed west.

xXx

After Chalfont left the room, Matt closed his eyes for a while, his head still hurt from the blow he had received earlier, and he was physically tired from being in the saddle almost continuously for nearly two days.

He lay there as it grew darker, the distant conversation of the two men in the other room barely registering in his mind.

When he opened his eyes again it was almost totally dark. A dim oil lamp was burning in the other room but he heard no voices.

Carefully he moved a little and waited to see if the creaking of the bed brought any reaction. Nothing happened, everything was just as silent as before.

Carefully he felt along the manacle restraining his wrist. He figured out that the bed was just a wood frame, nailed together and supported on four short posts. The wood forming the frame had been too thick for one manacle to encompass, so they had fastened both cuffs around his right wrist with the chain connecting them going around the timber forming one side of the bed frame. If he could work the chain to a corner and loosen the join, he could perhaps free himself.

Carefully so as not to make too much noise he turned onto his right side and slid his free hand along the frame till he came to the corner. Whoever had made the bedframe had done a good job, he was not going to be able to pry it apart with fingers alone. They had removed his boots – probably looking for a concealed gun, but he felt along his left leg for the small bulge in his sock. He was almost jubilant to find the thin knife he had hidden there. It was not much more than a penknife, but maybe it would do the job.

Again he stopped and listened; no noises came from the other room. He went back to work, forcing the thin blade of the knife into the join at the corner. It was slow, he had to resist the urge to use it as a lever to pry the pieces apart, the blade was too thin and if it broke he'd have nothing. After a few minutes he knew this wouldn't work. The thin knife blade would not pry the nails out. He changed tactics and started trying to cut his way through the timber, cutting a V shaped incision in the wood and working it deeper and deeper, just whittling it out as he went. Is was a long and tedious task and a few times he had to lie on his back and rest. Only being able to use his left hand did not help. The good thing was if he could get about half way through he figured he could probably break it the rest of the way by force.

He began to hear the sound of people moving around in the other room and noticed that daylight was creeping into the old building through the many cracks in the walls. Carefully he folded the knife and slid it back into his sock. A little more work and he thought that a good bounce on the bed would break the timber that formed this side of the frame. Then he could slide the chain off and get free.

He rested a while, and thought about Kitty, hoping she had found the buckskin and made it back to Dodge before dark. He also didn't understand why Chalfont hadn't carried out his threat yet. He must know that help would arrive soon. Of course the man was presuming it would take Kitty several days to get to Dodge, so maybe he was dragging it out for effect.

xXx

Ben Walker had lit the small stove and started warming up some stew they had made the day before. He also put a coffee pot on to heat.

"You want me to feed him?" he called to Mort

"Yeh I guess so."

Ben Walker took a plate of food and a cup of coffee to the bedroom and set them both on the floor near the Marshal.

Matt tried to start a conversation with the man.

"Thank you," he said looking at the man. "What part do you play in all this?"

The man looked back over his shoulder. "Milo was my brother too, in a way. But …"

The man was interrupted by a call from the kitchen.

"Come back here Ben – no need to become friends – he won't be around long enough."

The man referred to as Ben turned and went back to the other room without a word.

"When you gonna do it Mort."

"When I'm ready,"

"You know if you kill him we'll have every lawman in the country looking for us."

"They won't know who we are, no one has seen us and we'll be gone before anyone finds their way here."

"Not if you don't start soon, remember it took Milo six days to die."

"Well, if I have to, I'll shoot him twice."

Milo took the tin plate his breakfast had been on and slammed it into a bucket by the door.  
"You take care of the dishes and stuff and I'll go on and get it done."

TBC


	8. Chapter 8

**Ransom**

Chapter 8

It was beginning to get dark and although Kitty was certain that she was on the right road to the Simmonds place she had to work to keep doubt from creeping into her mind. She kept telling herself she remembered the way, but as it got darker she had to fight the rising sense of panic. She could feel the horse tiring, his steps were getting slower and twice he almost stumbled. He had been on the move for four or five days without resting. She just had to be right, Matt's life was depending on her.

At last, there was the glow of a light in the distance. It was faint, barely visible in fact, but a true glimmer of hope none the less and probably under a mile away. As she got closer, the relief and excitement she felt encouraged the horse, somehow he extended his trot until both of them arrived exhausted at the front door of the ranch. Kitty almost fell from the horse's back and stumbled onto the porch, just about having enough strength to hammer on the door.

For the people inside, night-time visitors where a rare occurrence. Frank Simmonds looked warningly at his wife, picked up his pistol and went to the door. At first he did not recognize the woman standing there in the half-light. Her hair was tangled and hanging over her face, her dress was torn and filthy. Until she spoke he had no idea who she was.

"Mr. Simmonds it's me, Kitty Russell." She almost fell into his arms, unable to stand up much longer.

"Tess, come and give me a hand," he called over his shoulder, "it's Miss Kitty, and she's hurt."

She felt hands helping her into the living room.

"Please take care of my horse Mr. Simmonds, he 's worked very hard these last few days."

"I'll get one of the men to take him back to the barn."

She heard him leave the house.

"Whatever happened to you Kitty?" Tess had come over and put her arm around Kitty's shoulder. "Come and sit down and I'll get you something to drink."

She was trying to gather her thoughts, how could she tell them what had happened and not tell them how much Matt meant to her. She only had a few minutes to compose herself.

Tess Simmonds returned with a small glass of whisky and handed it to her. "Just sip on this," she advised. Kitty heard a door close somewhere as Frank Simmonds came back from the barn.

They both sat looking at her, not trying to hurry her but certainly expecting some kind of explanation. Frank broke the silence.

"That's Marshal Dillon's horse isn't it?"

Kitty took another sip of the whisky; it was helping her to catch her breath. She set the glass carefully on the coffee table in front of her.

"Yes it is and he needs help. There are two men holding him prisoner in an old nester's place, probably four or five hours ride south of here. I think they plan to kill him."

Tess looked at her for a moment.

"How did you," she stopped a minute searching for the words. "How did you get involved in this?"

Kitty lifted the whisky glass and took another sip. Frank Simmonds had got up and walked over to the window. He stood there looking out into the darkness.

"Oh its all right Frank, no one was following me."

She had suddenly understood that he thought she might have brought danger to his family.

"Some men kidnapped me from Dodge and took me out there. They used me as bait to get the Marshal to ride out to them. I think they told him they would kill me if he didn't come."

"So you escaped?"

"No they let me go once he arrived. I think they thought it would take me days to get back to Dodge, but I found Matt's horse and remembered your place here. Maybe you can send someone to get help."

"Could you find the place again Kitty?"

"I think so, but… well I was in somewhat of a panic for most of the time."

Tess looked over at her husband. "We have to do something Frank." She reached over and patted Kitty's hand. "Meantime you need to get some sleep."

Nothing sounded better than sleep, she knew she was reaching her limit of her endurance, but up till now she had been focused on getting help and it didn't leave much time to think about anything else. Now the sound of Matt's voice from when he had last spoken to her was uppermost in her mind. She hadn't been able to take the blindfold off and look in his eyes. Suppose that had been the last time she would hear him or feel his touch. Suppose she couldn't get help there in time. She pushed the thoughts to the back of her mind. The whisky helped, it was good and she took another sip.

Frank stood up to leave, "The Marshal has always been a friend to us. Don't worry Kitty, I'll go and talk to the boys and see what we can come up with. Meantime let Tess find you a place to sleep, there's not much anyone can do before morning."

xXx

Chester left Doc's office taking the stairs two or three at a time. Doc watched him through the window hoping he wouldn't fall and break his neck. He watched as the man ran along the board-walk with his own peculiar gait in the direction of the Long Branch, until he disappeared from view.

xXx

Chester burst breathless through the batwing doors to find Clem behind the bar.

"Where's Sam, Clem?" he called so anxiously that the bartender almost dropped the glass he was washing.  
"He went to bring up another barrel."

There was a banging and crashing followed by Sam appearing from the basement stairway pushing a beer barrel in front of him. He looked up when he saw Chester.

"Any news of Miss Kitty?"

Chester told him about the note and how Mr. Dillon had ridden off by himself to find Miss Kitty and Doc's suggestion that they gather up a few good men and head out at first light tomorrow.

"I'll talk to Ed Stubberfield and Joe Stenson, Chester – they'll be in here tonight and I'm sure they'd both be willing to help.

xXx

It was a motley group of men assembled at the livery stable next morning. Doc had insisted on coming along and had sent word to Moss to saddle a horse for him. Earlier that morning while it was still too dark to see without lighting one of the oil lamps in his office, Doc had gathered up a few instruments and other supplies he thought might be needed and stuffed them all into an old medical bag he could tie on the saddle horn.

As the first vague rays of light appeared in the distance Moss swung the big wooden door open and 5 horses and riders headed for the road west out of town.

"You sure you're up to riding a horse Doc?" Chester asked him at least twice.

Doc sniffed and pulled on his ear – "I'll wager I could outride you any day, so quit asking."

Truth be told Doc had got to the point in life where it was a lot more comfortable to ride in a buggy, but this was an emergency, Matt or Kitty or maybe both of them could be hurt and come hell or high water he was going to be there to take care of his friends.

xXx

Matt listened to the men's words creeping through from the other room. He knew Mort was headed towards him, gun in hand, he could even hear his footsteps. There was no way he was going to lie here and let himself be shot, better be killed trying to escape. Better still if he could arrest these two and take them back to to the jail in Dodge.

The man appeared in the doorway,

"Your time's up, Dillon." He stepped further into the room, lifting and aiming his gun. Matt could see the man's finger on the trigger and heard the hammer pull back. What was the man waiting for?

"What's the matter," Dillon called out, "You scared to shoot an unarmed man?"

Chalfont was frustrated. His hand was shaking. Matt knew this was a deadly situation; the slightest pressure on the trigger and the gun would go off.

He had saved half of his cup of coffee. It was on the bed next to him. In one movement he picked it up and threw the liquid at the man's face, then forced himself up off the bed as best he could and brought his left leg down on the timber frame with all the force he could muster.

Chalfont jumped back in surprise, the gun went off but the bullet went wide.

Matt was almost free, the wood rail split but did not go all the way through. It took more effort and a little maneuvering before he could work the chain free. Meantime the other man, the one who had brought breakfast, came running into the room.

"Did you do it Mort?" he called out, but then as he came through the door he could see his brother standing there, gun in hand and coffee dripping down his face.

Matt gathered himself and launched at the two men who were now standing close together. He might not get another chance.

His main concern was to get control of the gun.

Mort was still wiping the coffee from his eyes when Matt landed on top of him. Ben stood watching the two men roll on the ground, each trying to take the advantage. Matt landed a couple of punches to his opponent's chin, Mort's eyes closed and his head fell to one side.

Ben drew his own gun, "Get up real slowly Marshal." Matt noticed that the man was smart enough to take a step backwards so that he couldn't reach him. "Now raise your hands."  
Matt did as instructed. Not much point in inviting trouble

"Walk ahead of me into the other room and sit in that chair."

Ben wasn't sure what he was going to do. He really didn't want to kill a United States Marshal, and Mort had demanded that he get to do that job anyway.

Mort came staggering into the room, moving his jaw experimentally with his right hand.

"You all right Mort?" Ben asked without taking his eyes off of Dillon.

"What we gonna do with him?" he continued, willing to concede decisions to the other man.

"Tie him up."

Matt decided he was not going to allow that. By this time he figured out that neither man wanted to pull the trigger. It was worth the risk. He lashed out with a backhand at Ben who was closest to him. Maybe he was too slow, maybe Mort found his courage, but it didn't work out as he had planned. He was suddenly aware that the gun had fired and a burning pain jolted the right side of his chest. It knocked the wind out of him for a second or two and gave the brothers time to regain control. Before he could stop it, he was thrust into the chair and his arms were tied behind him, and then a rope passed around his chest until he couldn't move. He could feel the warm stickiness of blood tracking down inside his shirt.

Mort was overjoyed with his actions. The shot had been a lucky one, he couldn't even remember pulling the trigger let alone aiming.

"See Marshal I told you I could do it. Now you will sit there and I will watch you die, just like I watched Milo."

Matt was trying to clear his head. He still had the small penknife he had used to work on the bed frame; it was pushed way down in his pants pocket. No one had thought to search him again, if he could just work his fingers around to it, he could use it to cut the rope they had tied him with.

He shifted his weight a little, trying to move his hands around so he could reach the knife.

"You sit still now, I didn't say you could move." Mort had found some courage after his achievement of firing the gun.

"Just getting comfortable," Dillon replied. His fingers had reached the top of his back pocket where the knife was.

"I don't want you comfortable, Milo wasn't comfortable."

"Tell me about Milo."

Mort looked at him. "You killed him, what more do you want to know?"

Matt still wasn't sure but had decided these were the people he had seen holding up the stage. Milo must have been the man who shot the passenger; he had fired at him but never knew if he hit him or not. He needed to keep the man talking somehow. He had the knife in his fingers now and was turning it around to open the blade.

"Since we're just sitting here I figured you'd like to talk about something." There was a pause, so he continued.

"Where did you grow up?"

Mort took a look at the Marshal, maybe he should tell him, maybe that would make him feel more remorse for the killing. He pulled a chair around about three feet in front of Dillon and started talking as he sat down. In a few minutes it was apparent that although his eyes were still fixed on Dillon, his mind had wandered far away.

By now Matt had the knife open and was working on his bonds. Mort was talking, but Dillon wasn't listening to the words, he had to concentrate on not dropping the little knife. He also needed to watch the man named Ben, he was pacing the room and would occasionally pass behind the chair where Dillon was tied. After a while he too settled down and sat looking out of the window to the prairie beyond.

TBC


	9. Chapter 9

**Ransom**

Chapter 9

Kitty didn't sleep much even though she was exhausted from the harrowing experiences of the day before. As soon as she heard movement in the house where she was a guest, she got up and wrapped herself in the robe that Tess Simmonds had laid out for her.

She found the rancher's wife in the kitchen preparing breakfast for the family and the ranch hands.

"Help yourself to coffee, Kitty." The woman indicated the pot on the stove and some cups on a shelf to her left.

"Where's Frank?"

"He went out to help saddle the horses so the men can leave as soon as they have eaten."

"I need to go with them," Kitty replied, looking through the window to the barn across from the house. "They'll never find the place without me,"

"I think he figured on that, he talked about hitching up a wagon and team." She turned back to the stove and filled a plate with biscuits and side meat, which she handed to Kitty to put on the table where places were already set.

"Just help yourself, Frank has already taken food out to the men, I need to go hurry the children up or they'll be late for school. I left some clothes on the chair there," she indicated, "maybe something will fit well enough, though I think they may be a little big for you."

Kitty thanked the woman and set about taking some food. She wasn't really hungry, because of worrying about Matt, but she managed a biscuit with a little gravy.

It didn't take her long to change and in under an hour she joined Mr. Simmonds and two of his hired hands who were on horseback and a third who was driving the wagon in which she was riding. She directed them as best she could till she found the place from where she had recognized the road to the Simmonds Ranch the night before. From there she told them to head south. It would still be a three or four hour ride.

xXx

About 5 miles ahead of them another group of men were riding in the same direction, not exactly sure where they were going but making good time anyway.

Chester kept an eye on Doc, he knew that in spite of the physicians bravado, riding horseback was tiring for him.

"Sam, let's pull over there," he pointed to a crop of small trees, "maybe there's a place we can water the horses and take a short break."  
They had been riding for almost three hours at a good pace and it would give him time to look around and see where they were.

The others took the horses down to the waters edge while Chester stood scanning the horizon. There behind them, coming along almost the same path as they had taken, was a rising dust cloud."

"Sam come here," he called pointing. "Looks like someone is following us."

Sam stood looking off in the direction Chester had indicated. The cloud was getting closer, he could make out three, maybe four riders.

"Chester," he said, squinting his eyes to try to get a clearer image, "I think there are three riders and a wagon – and I believe there is a woman in the wagon."

The jailer strained his eyes to see, the group was moving closer. "You know what Sam, I think that is Miss Kitty heading this way."

The two men stood looking for a moment. The group drew closer until they were both certain.

"Doc," Chester called, "I think Miss Kitty is coming."

The Physician looked up from where his horse was drinking, and stared at the incoming riders. "By Golly, you're right." He began waving, beckoning the group to join them.

Kitty had thrown her arms around Doc and almost cried with relief on his shoulder as he helped her down from the wagon.

She told him how she had been kidnapped from Dodge and taken to the place they were all headed. She explained how Matt had given himself up to the outlaws in order to gain her freedom and how she had managed to catch the buckskin and ride to the Simmonds place.

The jailer looked around at the posse he had now – many more than he started with and he thought, with a little trepidation, that he was still supposed to be leading the group. Success or failure was in his hands. While he would willingly do anything to help Mr. Dillon, he was not comfortable with the role of leadership. He noticed now that everyone was looking to him and knew he had no choice. Sometimes, he told himself, a man had to just step up and do what was necessary.

"C'mon, let's get moving. Mr. Dillon is depending on us," he tried to use a confident tone of voice.

To set an example he took the reins of his horse in his left hand and mounted up, noticing with some surprise, that everyone followed him. He led the group off in the direction Kitty had indicated, hoping he would know what to do when they arrived at their destination.

Kitty was sure they were going in the right direction and told Chester that the place where they were headed was probably about another hour – maybe two up ahead. The posse moved at a faster pace now with Chester in the lead and Doc driving the wagon. Kitty felt more confident because her good friend was sitting beside her and somehow his calm presence had chased the unfounded doubts from her mind.

xXx

Matt patiently worked away at the bonds securing his wrists. It wasn't easy to manipulate the small knife with his big hands, especially now that the blade had become dull from cutting through the wood frame of the bed, and now the rope. He could still feel a little blood oozing down his back from the wound in his chest – but he didn't think it was too bad because he didn't feel dizzy or have any trouble breathing. He looked around the room as he worked and could see his own gun and gun belt lying on a small shelf next to the front door. If he could cut himself loose, the gun was what he would go for.

Mort had been talking about the hardships of his youth for a while now, but Ben said nothing, he just kept watching out the window. Matt figured that if Kitty had made it to Dodge, help would be on the way soon and he needed to resolve the situation before they arrived so that no one got hurt.

He experimented pulling on the rope that bound his wrists and it gave slightly under pressure. Maybe a good tug and he would be free. He needed to get Mort to come closer. Ben was still holding a gun, but he had hesitated to fire before, maybe he would do so again.

"Mort," he called, dragging the man's thoughts back from wherever they had been. "You know, a lot of people have a tough childhood – and often a tough life, out here on the prairie, but it doesn't give them the right to kill and take whatever they want."

Mort got up from his seat and came closer.

"How come you got the right to kill someone, just because you got that star on your chest?"

"I don't like killing, but sometimes it's my job. Your brother killed the passenger on that stage, it was my duty to take him in to answer for that."

Mort was coming closer, a fire burning in his eyes.

"You had no right to kill him." The outlaw raised his hand to strike. Matt could see it coming and braced himself to give a sudden pull on the remaining threads of the rope that were still intact. He felt them give and sprung up from the chair to grab Mort. Holding the man in front of him like a shield, he made his way towards the shelf where his own Colt was lying.

"Just take it easy Ben and drop the gun," he said quietly but firmly to the other man. He managed to reach his gun, but at the same instant Mort thrust an elbow into his ribs where the bullet wound was.

Matt's vision dissolved into a red mist of pain and the man he was holding broke away. He found himself on the floor but had managed to grab the gun and by sheer force of will remained conscious and alert to what was going on around him.

There was a loud report from inside the room as Mort fired, but Dillon managed to roll to one side and the bullet went harmlessly into the wood floor. He managed to free his gun from its holster and was about to fire back when there was a loud crash and the front door swung open. There stood Chester. A proud smile crossed the Marshal's face at the welcome sight and for a moment he relaxed back onto the floor.

The jailer pointed his rifle at the two men, "You drop your weapons and get over against that wall." They looked at teach other and backed away. "Now just git your hands up and stand very still."

He spared a glance for his boss who was still on the floor.

"You all right Mr. Dillon? Looks like you been hit."  
"Yes Chester I'm fine but I was beginning to wonder when you'd get here." He managed to stagger to his feet and sat back in the chair, one arm across his ribs.

"Hey Sam," Chester called over his shoulder, "tell Doc to get in here, then come and give me a hand with these no-goods," he indicated Mort and Ben who stood with their hands in the air, not quite understanding what had just happened.

"What do you want me to do with them, Mr. Dillon?" Chest was all too eager to have his boss back in charge of the situation

"Tie 'em up for now. We'll be taking them back to Dodge to stand trial."

Somehow Kitty and Doc were here now, and several other men were standing in the doorway. Matt recognized Frank Simmonds and a couple of men from Dodge.

"Looks like you brought a whole army with you, Chester."

Kitty had come up to him, and was easing his shirt up so Doc could see the bullet wound. It had creased the outside of his chest and stopped a little below his left shoulder blade.

He smiled up at her. "Guess you found my horse," he whispered.

"Yes, he's at Frank's place, I'll explain later." She spoke softly not wanting to say much more with all these people around. She let her hand gently brush his face as she reached behind him to hold his shirt out of Doc's way.

"It doesn't look bad Matt, the bullet's still in there but it's not deep." Doc was studying the wound. "If I can get a little more light in here, I think I'll be able to remove it without hurting you too much.

"Well that's a comfort to hear," Matt mumbled half under his breath. He knew that whatever Doc did, it always hurt and he wanted to tell him so, but at the same time when it came to digging bullets out, there was no one he would trust more than his good friend.

Doc pulled on his left ear as if thinking,

"You know, Marshal, this is the second time I've had to patch you up in less than a month, you might as well just go on and sign your next pay check over to me when it comes in."

Frank Simmonds was talking with Chester. The rancher had decided that although it was well into the afternoon, he and his men could make it back to the ranch by nightfall.

"It looks like you have enough help Chester and I think if me and my men start back now we'll make it home before it gets too dark to travel. Tell the Marshal I'll send one of my men into town with his horse in a couple of days. You can keep the wagon till then."

"Thanks for your help, Frank, and thanks for taking care of Miss Kitty. We'll be fine now."

xXx

Somehow Doc had got things set up to his liking. He had found two lamps – not that either of them gave much light, but together it was enough that he could manage. He had got one of the men Chester had brought from Dodge to stoke up the fire and Kitty was boiling water to sterilize his instruments. He moved the table from its place near the stove to the middle of the room then took two enamel bowls from his medical bag and set them at one end of it. He pointed to one of the bowls telling Kitty to put the cleaned instruments in there. Having adjusted everything to his liking he looked around and saw the pillows on the bed in the other room. An idea occurred to him and he went and retrieved one and placed it on the table.

"Here Matt, I want you to lean over the table like this." He gave a rough demonstration of folding his arms onto the pillow and laying his head down on them. Dillon was still sitting in the chair with his right arm around his chest and Doc had to help him turn around. "It'll feel better once I get that slug out of there," he encouraged, noting the Marshal's difficulty moving.

When he finally got his patient positioned as he wanted, he adjusted the two lamps to give him light exactly where he needed it and pulled the bowl with his instruments closer so it was within easy reach.

"Kitty I need you to come over here and hold his shirt out of the way."

She did as he asked, hoping that this wasn't going to be too bad.

Doc checked to make sure he had everything he might need to hand, and then selected an instrument.

Kitty briefly turned her head away. She could feel Dillon tense under the fingers she had laid on his shoulder and heard him groan as Doc manipulated the forceps. Fortunately, true to his word, it didn't take more than a minute before the physician had the bullet removed and lying in one of the bowls.

"Hold still now Matt," he instructed his friend, "I think I need to put a couple of sutures in here just to keep it from bleeding on the way back to Dodge."

His fingers were fast and accurate from years of experience and it was only a short time before he had the wound cleaned and bandaged to his satisfaction.

"Now if you can just bring yourself to rest up for a while, that should do fine till we get back home."  
Dillon was standing up and carefully tucking his tattered shirttail back in place. He winced a little as he bent to one side but otherwise seemed unharmed.

He took a long look at his two prisoners. In a way he felt sorry for them, maybe this had been the only way they could think of to make a living. Some men just had to take what they thought was the easy way out and, sadly this time, it had cost an innocent man his life. Admittedly neither of these men had pulled the trigger, but they could still look forward to a long prison sentence although it worried him that he had no definite proof that they had been involved in the stage holdup. He certainly could not identify them from the distance he had been from the scene. Of course they had planned to kill him, and had kidnapped Kitty – those two crimes alone should add up to something. Still it could be a difficult day in court.

They would all have to spend the night here and start back home in the morning. There was very little in the way of food in the old building – but Kitty volunteered to cook anything the men could catch.

Matt had looked at the bed and decided it could be fixed up enough for Kitty to sleep there tonight. The prisoners could sleep outside with himself, Chester and Sam taking turns at keeping watch. Of course Chester and the other men told him they could manage just fine without his help.

They left early the following morning. Doc had insisted that Matt ride in the wagon, although really there wasn't much choice because the buckskin was still at the Simmonds place.

It took almost 7 hours before the grey wooden buildings of Dodge loomed on the horizon and another half hour before they turned onto Front Street. Sam and Chester took the two prisoners down to the jail and Matt escorted Kitty back to the Long Branch. Several of the regular patrons were in the saloon when they arrived. Most were aware that Kitty had been missing for a day or so, but only a few people in town knew the whole story, and Matt wanted to keep it that way for now in case it gave anyone else ideas. As for him, he was out of town so often that his own absence was barely noticed.

TBC


	10. Chapter 10

Stagecoach Chapter 10

About a week later Matt was watching the afternoon stage arriving from Hays. Kitty had been shopping and finished up standing next to him as the team of four thundered past them towards the depot.

Kitty suddenly stiffened.

"Matt," she said gripping his arm. "That man riding shotgun, he is the one who led me into the alley that day I was kidnapped. He said he would carry out an empty whisky crate for me – but it is the last thing I remember before waking up in that old shack."

Matt took her words to heart. Kitty had a good memory for people.

"I'll go and talk to him. See you later."

Matt walked purposely, with a certain amount of anger in his step. He kept his eyes on the man Kitty had indicated and watched him climb down from the stagecoach and carry the mail bag into the office. Come to think of it he had seen the young man in town a time or two before, but had never taken particular notice of him.

He approached the clerk who was busily organizing tickets and schedules for the passengers on the next stage out.

"What can I do for you Marshal?" he asked as he became aware of the lawman's presence.

"Who is the young man over there, the one who was riding shotgun on the coach that just came in?"  
"His name is Jerome Burton, other than that I don't know much about him. Does his job all right but nothing extra. Seems to stay out of trouble." The clerk turned back to his work.

"Thanks."

Dillon strode over to the young man who was busy adding outgoing letters to the US mail bag, and leaving behind ones destined for Dodge.

"Burton?" The young man looked up like a startled rabbit when Matt called him by name.

He recovered himself enough to put up a good front. "Who's asking?"

"I am. I'm the US Marshal here in Dodge. I need to have a talk with you."

"What about Marshal, I'm kind of busy right now."

"You're not too busy to come with me. Hand all that mail over to the clerk, maybe you can come back and finish sorting it later."

Matt put his hand on the young man's arm and hustled him out of the depot and along to the jail. Once inside he shut the door and pushed him into a chair in the middle of the room, using a little more force than necessary.

"Tell me how you came to be involved with a kidnapping," he stood looking down on the young man, who was obviously intimidated by the tall lawman looming over him.

" I don't know what you're talking about."

"Yes you do, the lady has already identified you."

Jerome was confused as to what he should do. To begin with he hadn't known that any crime had been planned when he took the job. The only thing that had made him concerned was the sounds of a struggle as he left the alley.

"I didn't know what they were planning Marshal, honest I didn't. Mort said he just wanted to talk with Miss Kitty, but she was always too busy to spend time with him in the Long Branch."

"Tell me how you got caught up in all this." Matt tried to sound a little less threatening. He really thought the man was telling the truth – he was too scared not to. At the same time his actions could have led to a far worse outcome, so there had to be some sense of responsibility.

Jerome Burton carefully recounted how the two men were passengers on the stage, and how they got him into a card game at Tall Trees relay station. Then when they got to Dodge he started playing cards with them again.

"Only this time I started losing, and I was $500 in debt. They said if I did one small thing, the money I owed would be forgiven." He hung his head and his voice dropped. "All I had to do was to get Miss Kitty to come outside to the alley. That's all I know."

There was silence for a minute.

"I have two men locked up back there in the cells. I need to see if you can identify them as the men you met, then when the case comes to trial, you will have to be here to give evidence."

"I'm not sure, I mean they could come after me."

"If they don't, I will, and then it will be you standing trial. Someone's going to pay for this."

Matt stood up from where he had been perched on the corner of his desk. He opened the door to the cells. Jerome turned his head away at first, not sure who he was more scared of. It seemed he was caught between a prairie fire and a nest of rattle snakes.

"Look at them, Burton," Matt ordered and started towards the nervous young man.

Carefully Jerome turned his head and looked.

The two prisoners started making threats but Matt closed the heavy wooden door to shut their voices out.

"Well?" he asked.

Slowly the man nodded his head.

"That's them." His voice was soft and muffled.

"What are their names?"  
"Mort and Ben, I never knew their last names. Ben was the one who played cards but it was Mort who wanted Miss Kitty."

Matt nodded slowly.

"Good enough. You can go, but I'll need you here to tell the court what happened when this case goes to trial. And don't think of trying to run and hide because I promise I will find you and, if I have to come after you, you will stand trial right along with them."

Jerome left the Marshal's office, convinced that the man meant every word. He was still scared of what Mort and Ben could do to him, but maybe the Marshal's threat held more sway.

xXx

Another two weeks passed before Judge Brooking arrived in town. The two prisoners in the cells were becoming restless and began hurling all kinds of threats and insults aimed at everyone concerned in keeping them there.

The Judge arrived in town on the afternoon stage from Wichita. He had wired ahead to let Dillon know he was on his way so that a room could be reserved for him at the Dodge House.

After a satisfying supper at Delmonico's the Judge and the Marshal retired to the Dodge house to discuss the cases for the next day. This far into summer the drovers were all gone and the heat seemed to keep people home. The result was that the kidnap case was the only one on the docket.

"So you see Judge," Matt concluded once he had recounted the whole story, "although I am sure these two men were part of the stagecoach hold up, I can't prove it and I was too far away when I witnessed the shooting to identify them. The only evidence is circumstantial and of course they deny being involved with it at all. According to them it was Milo and two other men. As for kidnapping Miss Russell, I have one witness, and then my own testimony because I witnessed them holding her against her will."

The Judge nodded wisely "I think that is probably the only charge you can get them on Matt. Of course kidnapping can carry a pretty hefty punishment; probably about 10 years each I'd say.

xXx

The makeshift courtroom in the Dodge House Lobby was packed the next morning as the Bailiff gave instructions to the crowd, and then bade everyone rise as the Judge entered.

Matt had sent a telegram to Jerome Burton, care of the Overland Stage Company, a few days ago but so far the man hadn't shown up.

He escorted the two prisoners across the street, and sat them in chairs in front of the Judge's table before releasing their handcuffs. He had left Chester to watch for the shotgun rider, with instructions to bring him directly to the courtroom if he showed up.

When everyone was seated, Judge Brooking asked Matt to state the charges against his prisoners. As usual Matt was concise and accurate, just stating that they had taken Miss Kitty Russell from the Long Branch Saloon and held her against her will for more than twenty-four hours.

Of course the two men pleaded not guilty.

He called Kitty to the stand and asked her to recount what happened. The Judge listened attentively, then asked his own questions.

"Miss Russell, can you identify the men that held you?"  
"No your honor," she admitted, "They kept me blindfolded the whole time. I'm sure I recognize their voices though," she indicated the two men seated in front of the judge.

"Marshal Dillon, what do you have to add to this account?" Brooking asked.  
Matt produced the note he had been given telling him to ride out of town, head west and then south if he wanted to gain Miss Russell's freedom. He explained how the men had released her when he arrived, and how he could certainly identify the two men in the courtroom as the ones who had been holding her captive.

When the judge allowed Mort and then Ben to speak they both claimed that they had not been the ones who had done the kidnapping, or written the note. They had just found the lady there in the old abandoned shack, and when the Marshal showed up they decided to tease him a little. They never meant any harm.

Matt was getting worried that his case was falling apart and these two men would go scott free because of the doubt they introduced into his version of events. He needed Burton to show up really soon. The trial was winding down. The thought crossed his mind of delaying the proceedings by getting Doc to testify about removing the bullet from his own chest where the outlaws had shot him. Surely that would show they intended more than a little teasing. Of course it was not his preference to do that, he hated the thought of his injury being discussed in a public courtroom. Still if that's what it took to convict the men who kidnapped Kitty, he would do it.

"Judge I would like to call one more witness, with your permission."

Brooking nodded his head "Go ahead Marshal."

Matt was about to call for Doctor Adams to take the stand when the hotel door opened and Chester appeared, in his usual flustered state, with young Jerome Burton in tow.

Matt almost visibly breathed a sigh of relief.

" Here is my witness your honor."

The young shotgun rider was duly sworn in, and Matt questioned him as to the events leading up to his taking Miss Russell out to the alley beside the Long Branch, and what he heard and thought after that.

Judge Brooking did his conscientious best to be a fair man. He had listened to the accused 's version of events and found it to be highly improbable. This last witness had convinced him of their guilt. He also believed they had been involved in holding up the stagecoach and subsequent murder of one of the passengers, but had no proof of that.

The court was called to order, and the Judge called the two men to stand before him.

He pronounced that he found each of them guilty of the crime of kidnapping and each would be sentenced to ten years in the state penitentiary.

xXx

It was a cool pleasant evening considering the time of year. Matt had escorted Kitty to supper at Delmonico's. By now every one in town knew what had happened to Kitty those few days she was missing from Dodge, and several people came up to congratulate them both on getting the outlaws convicted.

After the meal was over the Marshal walked the saloon owner back to the Long Branch with instructions that if she needed someone to carry whisky crates out in future, he was her man. In fact he would see her later that evening – after late night rounds and .. er…maybe he could prove that to her in his own way.

End.


End file.
